The Oriole sings in the greening grove As if he were half-way waiting, The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green, Timid, and hesitating. The rain comes down in a torrent sweep And the nights smell warm and pinety, The garden thrives, but the tender shoots Are yellow-green and tiny. Then a flash of sun on a waiting hill, Streams laugh that erst were quiet, The sky smiles down with a dazzling blue And the woods run mad with riot.

Not a stain,In the sun-brimmed sapphire cup that is the sky-Not a ripple on the black translucent laneOf the palace-walled lagoon.Not a cryAs the gondoliers with velvet oar glide by,Through the golden afternoon.

From this heightWhere the carved, age-yellowed balcony o’erjutsYonder liquid, marble pavement, see the lightShimmer soft beneath the bridge,That abutsOn a labyrinth of water-ways and shutsHalf their sky off with its ridge.

We shall markAll the pageant from this ivory porch of ours,Masques and jesters, mimes and minstrels, while we harkTo their music as they fare.Scent their flowersFlung from boat to boat in rainbow radiant showersThrough the laughter-ringing air.

See! they come,Like a flock of serpent-throated black-plumed swans,With the mandoline, viol, and the drum,Gems afire on arms ungloved,Fluttering fans,Floating mantles like a great moth’s streaky vansSuch as Veronese loved.

But beholdIn their midst a white unruffled swan appear.One strange barge that snowy tapestries enfold,White its tasseled, silver prow.Who is here?Prince of Love in masquerade or Prince of Fear,Clad in glittering silken snow?

Cheek and chinWhere the mask’s edge stops are of the hoar-frosts hue,And no eyebeams seem to sparkle from withinWhere the hollow rings have place.Yon gay crewSeem to fly him, he seems ever to pursue.‘T is our sport to watch the race.

At his sideStands the goldenest of beauties; from her glance,From her forehead, shines the splendor of a bride,And her feet seem shod with wings,To entrance,For she leaps into a wild and rhythmic dance,Like Salome at the King’s.

‘T is his aimJust to hold, to clasp her once against his breast,Hers to flee him, to elude him in the game.Ah, she fears him overmuch!Is it jest,-Is it earnest? a strange riddle lurks half-guessedIn her horror of his touch.

For each timeThat his snow-white fingers reach her, fades some rayFrom the glory of her beauty in its prime;And the knowledge grows upon us that the danceIs no play‘Twixt the pale, mysterious lover and the fay-But the whirl of fate and chance.

Where the tideOf the broad lagoon sinks plumb into the sea,There the mystic gondolier hath won his bride.Hark, one helpless, stifled scream!Must it be?Mimes and minstrels, flowers and music, where are ye?Was all Venice such a dream?

Whatever the place, the context
We always have a good excuse
To take off our “fruit of the loom”
When you and I go boom boom boom
When you’re not here I’m out of control
I take pounds, tequilas
I sing Umm Kulthum’s songs
I think only of our boom boom boom

And all the bourgeois of the 16th wonder why I love you
You don’t have to use a zoom lens
When you and I go boom boom boom

Yesterday was at your mother’s house, she nearly fell to the ground
She overheard the dressing room
When you and I were booming boom
In the hotel elevators
We climbed to the 7th heaven
We send away the bellboys
When you and I go boom boom boom
And all the bourgeois of the 16th wonder why I love you
You don’t have to use a zoom lens
When you and I go boom boom boom

When one receives guests one does not even know how to resist
Between Tea and Lookoums
There is time to make boom boom
It’s true that the walls have ears,…
Let all the neighbors wake up
But that’s how we make love
When you and I go boom boom boom
And all the bourgeois of the 16th wonder why I love you
You don’t have to use a zoom lens
When you and I go boom boom boom
That’s the way we love each other, it’s not vulgar
We have things to do, the shelves go “badaboom”
When you and I go boom boom boom

Besides, it’s always us two
Moreover, that’s all we want
It’s like Brahim Asloum’s punches
You plus me makes boom boom boom
There’s no point in an escapade
You’re the one who makes me travel
To see the coconuts of Touloum
When you and I go boom boom boom

And all the bourgeois of the 16th wonder why I love you
You don’t have to use a zoom lens
When you and I go boom boom boom
That’s the way we love each other, it’s not vulgar
We have things to do, the shelves go “badaboom”
When you and I go boom boom boom